


The Storm

by StarMaamMke



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Jim helps, joyce goes into badass mode, slightly steamy, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 07:46:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8740954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarMaamMke/pseuds/StarMaamMke
Summary: After taking a break from Hopper, Joyce encounters a life or death situation at work.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, here's this quick and dirty one-shot I wrote over the course of this Saturday morning. It's mostly unedited, so mistakes are mine. 
> 
> The song Jim gets all giddy over is "Born to Run" by Bruce Springsteen. If by chance you have never heard this song, you can listen to it here. It took the Boss nearly a half a year to cut this track, so marvel at the product of frustrating perfectionism. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f3t9SfrfDZM

“Well, that happened,” Joyce sighed, settling into the passenger seat of Jim Hopper’s Blazer. He sat, slammed the door, and said nothing. He turned the ignition with almost punishing force before backing up along the forest path.

 

The two said nothing as Jim made his way down the winding country roads towards the Byers’ residence. Joyce’s nervous, expressive hands twisted and fluttered on her lap as the radio played softly. She heaved another sigh and spoke: “It just took me by surprise is all.”

 

 “Me too.”

 

 “You aren’t mad at me for not being able to say it, are you? I mean, it was during… I didn’t think you meant it, which is why I laughed.”

 

“Laughter isn’t exactly what men want to hear during sex in the first place, Joyce. Doing it after I… whether I meant to say what I said or not, it just kind of added insult to injury.”

Joyce massaged her temples, shut her eyes and groaned in frustration. “We aren’t even sleeping  at each other’s houses, why would you even -”

 

“It was an accident, alright? Forget it even happened,” Jim snapped. He reached over to crank the volume on the radio. A bombastic rush of sound filled the Blazer, and Jim’s face immediately went from stony and sullen to mildly ecstatic. 

 

_ In the day we sweat it out on the streets of a runaway American dream _

_ At night we ride through mansions of glory in suicide machines _

_ Sprung from cages out on highway 9 _

_ Chrome wheeled, fuel injected and steppin' out over the line _

_ Oh, baby this town rips the bones from your back _

_ It's a death trap, it's a suicide rap _

_ We gotta get out while we're young… _

“Of course you like Springsteen, you giant  cliché.”

“Shhh…” Jim reached over, grabbed Joyce’s hand and sang along with the radio:

 

_ I want to guard your dreams and visions _

_ Just wrap your legs round these velvet hips _

_ And strap your hands across my engines… _

 

“I take it you’re not mad?”

“Oh my god, Joyce, can you not? This is the Boss.”

 

Joyce scoffed and leaned back in the seat. “Carry on - but stop doing air drums on the steering wheel. Keep your hands at ten and two, like your dad taught us.”

 

“The Boss won’t let this truck crash.”

 

“He’s not the one driving, you are!”

 

Jim’s responded by making guitar noises. Joyce wondered how hard someone would have to roll their eyes in order to pop them out of their head. It seemed that a crisis had been averted, for the moment. 

This new arrangement, this “thing” between Jim and Joyce was fairly new. It had started in late November, shortly after Will had been released from the hospital. There was still snow on the ground as he drove Joyce home from their rendezvous in the back of his truck; a late night relief after Jim had spent the night before patrolling the rowdy St. Patrick’s Day crowds.  

 

Despite the fact that it was beyond freezing in the back of his truck, Joyce always insisted that they never visit each other’s homes. Will and Jonathan were both dealing with the events of the past November in their own way, and Joyce did not want to impede their recovery by shocking them with her lo- with the news that she was fucking the Chief of Police. Her reasoning for refusing to go to his trailer was that she did not want to accidentally fall asleep and have her boys worry when they realized that she was not home. There was absolutely no risk of falling asleep in the back of his truck. None. They would come together, to their mutual satisfaction, and he would drive her home, dropping her off about a quarter mile down the road. She left after Jonathan and Will went to bed, and returned well before they woke up in the morning. 

 

It was simple and uncomplicated. Joyce did not put much thought into what she was doing with Jim, other than toy with the possibility that it was some sort of visceral reaction to surviving The Upside Down together. What they had seen had only (as far as she knew) been experienced by a handful of people, and a good chunk of those people had died. Sex with Jim was celebratory, it was a comfort it was… it was sex. He was lonely, and Joyce was lonely, and they had come together before, years upon years ago. Joyce loved sex, but hated the idea of having to deal with new partners and learn different steps to an old dance. At least Jim had a vague memory of how she liked to move. That was all, she thought… and then he had to go and say the thing _.  _

_ I love you _ . Goddamn it all to hell, why would he want to ruin a good thing? Why did he want to plant that thought in her head, as though she didn’t already have at least a million different notions and tangents racing in swirling in her anxious mess of a brain at all times? Why did those words make her think of things like sleepovers and dinners and thank god her parents were dead and his were too because Joyce just couldn’t do holidays that had a capacity of more than four people at most and what if he wanted to get married oh god why was this happening? Joyce wanted to rewind to the moments before the utterance, so that she could gag him, or smother the words with her lips and tongue. 

 

“Wait, you’re supposed to stop before we get to the house!” Joyce cried as Jim began to turn into her driveway.

 

“Not anymore, Joyce. We don’t know if there aren’t any more of those...  _ things _ out there.” His eyes were searching the area around them as the Blazer came to a halt. 

 

Joyce felt the anger and confusion flare up within her. “This wasn’t a problem before,” she argued. She noticed he wouldn’t meet her eyes, and suspicion crept in along with the other emotions. “Do you know something?”

 

“We should have thought about it before. It’s not safe, you walking up and down these country roads at night.” His weak explanation only fueled Joyce’s feeling that she was being left out of something vital. Something akin to outrage made her cheeks burn and her hands itch. They had gone into that place together, saved her boy  _ together _ . She thought back to the night when he told her that those people were allowing them to enter the Upside Down. There had to be something more to that boon other than never mentioning it again…

 

“What did you do?” Joyce demanded. Jim face immediately took on a mask of guilt, and he turned his face away from her searching eyes.

 

“You can’t say….that thing you said and then keep things from me. That’s not how it works.”

 

“I told you to forget about that!” Jim snapped. He reached over her and opened the passenger side door with such force that Joyce thought it would snap clear off the hinges. He straightened and crossed his arms in front of his chest, eyes fixed forward and stone-faced.

 

“Fine. I guess if it’s suddenly so unsafe, then we probably shouldn’t have a repeat of tonight. Goodnight, Jim.” She was sure the boys were able to hear the truck door slam shut from where they were sleeping, but she did not care. 

The next week went by without the two of them so much as acknowledging each other’s presence, even though there were two occasions in which they were in the same room together. The first time, Jim had been making purchases at the General Store. He choose Faun Geary’s lane instead of Joyce’s, even though she knew he had little patience with the older woman’s pokey movements and stilted conversation. The second time, he was there to explain the new security system to Donald, who was finally getting on board with the twentieth century. Joyce shuffled to one side as the two men and the woman who was installing the system inspected the panic buttons at each register. 

 

“Joyce, you may want to come over here and listen,” Donald beckoned as Joyce pretended to be interested in the invisible dust on a nearby shelf. 

 

“See robber, press button. Got it. I have to go get boxes from the basement.” Which wasn’t untrue. Joyce had just been putting off her journey to the basement, in hopes that someone else would make the trip first, but with Jim’s sudden presence, she decided that if she had to choose between the two…

 

Against all structural sense, the light switch to the basement was located above the narrow entrance in the breakroom. Joyce had to pull up a stool in order to reach it, all while hoping said stool would not topple over and hurl her into the darkness. None of the other employees lived with this fear of injury, but everyone else had four inches on her at least. 

The stairs to the basement needed to be redone, they sagged slightly with each step, no matter how lightly Joyce tried to tread, and they were steep and narrow to boot. She wondered if Donald was using the profits from the store to pay off building inspectors, that was the only way she could explain why her senses were assaulted with the damp, musty stench of mold every time she retrieved things from the basement. 

Anyway, fetching supplies was preferable to having to spend another minute in a room with Jim Hopper, the secretive rat bastard. She decided to start sorting through Easter Decorations for good measure. It bought her a good ten minutes, and when she made her way back to the front of the store, Jim was gone. 

 

Another two days of zero communication went by before Joyce’s phone rang. By that time, she did not expect to hear Jim’s voice on the other end. She was resigned to consider herself another notch of his already mangled bedpost, and oh well, so it goes. 

 

“Joyce?”

 

“Hop?” She hated the eager edge in her voice. She wanted to quell it with indifference and ice. It was stupid how much she had kind of missed him….but only during quiet moments when she actually had time to miss anything. 

 

“There are things I can’t say.” His voice sounded small and contrite. 

 

“Okay.” 

 

“You want honesty, and I get it, but I have to be care- let me pick you up from work tomorrow.”

 

Joyce sighed. “I have inventory by myself. It could take hours.”

 

“I’ll wait, and you shouldn’t be doing that it’s not -”

 

“If you are going to tell me it’s not safe without explaining why, I’m going to scream.”

 

“Okay, okay. Like I said, I’ll wait.”

 

* * *

 

The next day went by slowly, as though time itself knew that Joyce had an important conversation waiting for her after her shift. Business ground to a halt in the afternoon when an ice storm hit the town, driving people back into their homes for safety. Donald fretted about the weather, and asked Joyce if she wanted to move inventory to another day instead.

 

“This is the last day of the pay period, Donald. I need this paycheck.”

 

“Oh, I know, but it’s so dangerous-”

 

“I’ll sleep in the break room if I think I won’t be able to make it home.”

 

Donald shrugged and shook his head. “Alright, Joyce. Just stay safe. I’ll have Faun lock up when she leaves so you don’t hover over her and make her feel rushed.” Joyce was tempted to snap back with a retort about Faun’s glacial pace, but decided against it. 

 

Closing time rolled around, and Faun took over end-of-shift duties so Joyce could get a jump on inventory. She changed the radio station, and pretended not to hear Faun’s protests when it went from Easy Listening to Classic Rock. Inventory was  _ her  _ time, so she was going to play  _ her  _ music and not Faun and Donald’s Mayberry bullshit. 

 

An hour rolled by before the tinkling of the front door bell announced Faun’s departure. Joyce celebrated by cranking the volume on the radio and singing along - something she did not do in mixed company. She lived for the moments where she could be just as free and silly as she wanted - where she could walk around without fear of someone watching and adding to the ‘Reasons Joyce Byers is an Insane Person’ list. The pencil from her clipboard made a fine microphone, and she was performing a fantastic rendition of “Helter Skelter” if she did say so herself. 

 

Another hour later, if she hadn’t been so close to the front of the store, she would have missed the second tinkle of the bell. “Faun, did you forget something?” Joyce called as she made her way to the door. She was greeted by a tall, thin man dressed in black from head to toe. His features were not discernible because of the ski mask he wore, but his eyes were green and burning with anger as he raised his gun and pointed it at Joyce’s head. “Oh.”

 

“Don’t you dumb shits lock up at night?” He growled. 

 

“Fucking Faun,” Joyce cursed as she tried to prevent her body from trembling. She hugged the clipboard to her chest as though it were a security blanket. “We usually do.”

 

“This was just supposed to be a break in. I didn’t want there to be people.” The man dropped the intimidating snarl. He almost sounded nervous, which Joyce would have found laughable, if he didn’t have a gun trained at her temple.

 

“The lights were on, genius - that didn’t give you some sort of clue?” She always got snappy when she was nervous, and the retort came out, unbidden.  _ My mom always said my mouth would get me killed. Get to the panic button, get to the panic button… _

 

“There still any money in the register?”

 

“If my coworker was stupid enough to leave the door unlocked, she’s probably stupid enough to leave money in the register.” That was an absolute lie. Donald came by at the end of every shift to take the money to the safe - but the panic button was by the register. 

 

“Go.”

 

Joyce made her way to Faun’s register, gasping when she felt the man’s gun press against her back. “Could you not?”

 

“I don’t think you’re in a position to make demands, lady. I have the gun.” Joyce felt a wave of sadness when she realized that the robber couldn’t be more than eighteen. He was still settling into his grown up voice. 

 

Joyce managed to press the button beneath the register while simultaneously turning the key to pop the drawer open. She let out a relieved, shuddering sigh when the action went unnoticed. “There’s nothing in the drawer,” the young man remarked, digging the gun against her back hard enough to make her gasp. 

 

“I guess there was always a possibility of that,” Joyce replied as she wondered how long it would take for the security system to work its magic. She thought she heard the sound of the bell, but figured that her mind was probably playing tricks on her. It was a security system, not a conjuring spell from a tabletop game.

 

“Where’s the -” The young man screamed, and Joyce turned to see that he had been pulled away from her and thrown across the floor. Joyce gasped and backed into the register when she recognized Jim Hopper, out of uniform, charging at her assailant who was trying to get back on his feet. 

 

“Jim, he’s got a-” Joyce was cut off by the sound of the gun firing into the air. The thin man had successfully dodged Jim’s fist but the shock of coming close to it had set off his trigger finger, He took advantage of the discombobulating sound, and clocked Jim across the head with the side of the gun.  

 

“What the fuck?!” The man screamed, as Jim groaned on the ground, clutching his forehead. Joyce felt an overwhelming rush of concern and she started to run to Jim. She froze when the gun was once again aimed at her face. “Step. Back.”

 

“Joyce…” Jim moaned. 

 

“Shut up, or I  _ will _ shoot!” 

 

Joyce bit her lip until she tasted blood, her muscles twitched from the rigidity of her stance. She felt a panic attack bubble up from within her chest, and she prayed it didn’t show. She had to think, she had to get them out of this. 

 

“Now,” the robber took a deep breath, “did either of you fuckers call the police?”

 

Joyce thought she heard Jim mumble that he  _ was _ the police, and she shushed him desperately. “You fired a gun in a store that is surrounded by houses and apartment buildings,” she explained in a hushed, trembling tone. She kept her eyes fixed on the ground. “The cops are going to come. The police station is three blocks from here.”

 

She heard something that sounded like a frustrated sob come from the man. “Fuck, fuck, fuck… where is the safe?”

 

Joyce shook her head. “You don’t have time. You need to leave now if you want to have a fighting chance.”

 

The man looked around wildly, trying to assess his escape route. “Is there a back door?”

 

“They’d get you. There’s a tunnel.”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

“I’ll show it to you. Hawkins used to be a part of the Underground Railroad and there’s a whole network of tunnels beneath these downtown businesses.” _ Liar, liar, pants on fire. God will strike you down if you keep telling tales, Joyce Mae.  _ Joyce had no idea why her Nana’s voice was echoing in her head, but she shook it off, not needing the guilt. 

 

“Joyce...no…” Joyce’s blood froze when she saw Jim try to pull himself onto his feet.

 

“Be quiet, Hop. For fuck sake, Stay. Down.” 

 

The man kicked Jim in the side. “Yeah, stay down.” Joyce felt white hot rage lance through her. 

 

“The deal is off if you keep taking cheap shots at him!” 

 

The man gave a cruel bark of laughter and raised his gun. “I’ll kill you both if you don’t help me.”

 

Joyce nodded, the heat in her body replaced with ice cold fear. She needed to stop mouthing off if she wanted to survive. “Follow me.”

 

Joyce ignored Jim’s feeble protestations as she headed off towards the break room, the man in black trailing behind her, pressing cold steel against her back once again.  _ Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck… _

 

Joyce paused in front of the entrance to the basement. “It’s down the stairs, to your immediate right. The light switch is up there,” she pointed a trembling finger above her head, eyes focused on the darkness below. “I can’t reach it.”

 

“If this is a trick -” the man was cut off by the sound of sirens filling the air. “Shit. Get out of my way.” He shoved Joyce to one side, and reached up to push the brass light switch. Joyce was on her feet within seconds, yelling as she charged with her hands in front of her. She pushed against his back with all her might, propelling him forward. He groped blindly before falling, and managed to grab Joyce by the shirtfront. She jerked forward, but grabbed the side of the entryway to keep from falling. Another shot rang out, and then a tremendous ‘crack’ as his body hit the structurally weak stairs and subsequently caused them to cave in. After the cacophony of sound, there was eerie silence. 

 

“Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god…” Joyce chanted as she sank to the floor in a trembling mess. She raised a hand to cover her mouth. “That son of a bitch…” she murmured before closing her eyes. 

 

“Joyce?!” Her eyes flew open in time to see Jim stumble into the breakroom. “Oh my god… are you hit? Did you - Jesus Christ, Joyce, why did you go off with him?” Jim knelt at her side and cupped her face with his hands, eyes desperately searching for damage. “I thought he killed you.” She noticed that his eyes were shining with unshed tears, which made her feel both grateful and slightly uncomfortable.

 

“You’re going to have a nasty headache tomorrow,” Joyce remarked. She raised a hand to touch the gash on the side of his head. 

 

“That was so stupid, Joyce. God damn it, don’t ever do that again. Don’t ever do the thinking for both of us. He could’ve… he could have…” Jim trailed off, his breath coming out in trembling, shallow pants. He was a mess. Joyce had never seen him like this. She leaned forward and kissed him, feeling an insatiable urge to calm his fears. He responded immediately and with a consuming, religious sort of fervor. “So stupid,” he murmured in between kisses, pulling her onto his lap. 

 

The adrenaline charging through Joyce’s body switched focus from fight-or-flight fear to acute, dizzying desire. She bit and licked and rocked against him as they reaquainted themselves with one another. She wondered if he meant to take her on the break room floor with a possible dead man lying below them amongst the wreckage of the stairs. She wondered if that was something one could do with a concussion. The blow to his head certainly wasn’t impeding his steely and impressive erection as it pressed against her core. 

 

“Nobody move!” Officer Callahan screamed from the entrance to the breakroom. Jim and Joyce froze, eyes wide with the realization that they had been discovered in such a compromising position. Not to mention the fact that there was an unconscious man lying in the basement.

 

“It’s me, Callahan, relax. Joyce took care of the perp. ...He fell down the stairs.”

 

“ _ Through _ them, really,” Joyce corrected, pushing herself off of Jim’s lap. She averted her eyes as the younger officer eyed them both with the amusement of someone who just had their suspicions confirmed. 

After statements were made and Jim had been examined and cleared (the cut was shallow and the blow not life-threatening), Joyce drove him back to his trailer. “Cleared or not, I don’t think you should be driving home. ...I let the boys know what happened and where I was going.”

 

Jim straightened in his seat. “You did?” He was all astonishment. Joyce shushed him in response. “So are you just dropping me off or…”

 

“What, you’re going to walk back to town in the morning? I’m staying over, if you must know.” She could practically feel him beaming from the passenger seat. “What were you doing at the store anyway?”

 

Jim sighed. “I told you I’d wait.”

 

“You literally parked outside of the store to wait for me to do hours of inventory?”

 

He shrugged. “Something told me it would be a good idea. Cop instincts.”

 

“Nevermind the fact that I’m the one who actually saved us. I might have been more cool-headed if you hadn’t come charging in, Cowboy.” Joyce’s tone was chiding. 

 

“Or you could have died! I still can’t believe you decided to take him down on your own. You could’ve distracted him up front so I would have had a chance -”

 

“My plan worked fine!” Joyce snapped as she pulled into Jim’s driveway. Her blood was boiling again. 

 

“It might not have! Goddamn it, Joyce, you just can’t-”

 

“Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do! We’re here anyway, so let’s get you out of this car and into bed.”

 

“I can put myself to bed, because I’m not an invalid or a damsel in distress and -”

 

“Neither am I!” Joyce got out and opened the passenger side door. Jim sprang from the car, bent low, and kissed Joyce hard on the mouth. She sighed against his mouth and responded with equal ferocity, throwing her arms about his neck and urging him to lift her so neither would have to strain to meet. He obliged and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried her into the house in this fashion, blindly grasping for doorknobs and light switches as they made their way to his bedroom. 

 

They came together with vicious force - with nipping teeth and nails that scratched and fierce, exquisitely painful thrusts that caused Joyce to see stars as she poised herself on all fours in the middle of his bed. His hand moved between her legs to work clever, teasing fingers against her clit as she screamed his name. Neither of them lasted long at their punishing pace, both collapsing onto the bed, panting and sweaty despite the cold, wet March air outside. 

 

Joyce caught Jim studying her face as sleepiness begin to overtake her. “What?” she asked, caressing the hand that was stroking her face. 

 

He shrugged. “Nothing. I guess I’m just trying to paint a mental picture. I want to remember you like this.”

 

Joyce rolled her eyes. Sometimes he sentimentality really was the dizzy limit. “Sweaty, messy, and possibly a murderer?”

 

“That little prick is going to be just fine, Joyce. You didn’t kill him; No, I want to remember you beautiful and fierce and brave. You saved my life - as much as I hate the danger you put yourself in to do it, I’m a little bit in awe of you tonight.”

Joyce snorted. “You old romantic.” She snuggled against his side, and closed her eyes. “I appreciate you being there for me tonight, Hop. I wasn’t cool-headed before you came, I was a fucking mess. We make a good team.” Joyce felt him tense up, and she opened her eyes. He was staring up at the ceiling - his face was pale and grim.

 

“Joyce, I did something terrible.”

  
**The End.**


End file.
